Shattered Innocence
by Papergirl
Summary: A drunken Josh shows up at Donna's one night and ends up doing something he regrets
1. A Kiss Far From Bliss

Title: Shattered Innocence Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net) Category: Comedy, Romance J/D Spoilers: ITSOTG. It's AU in that Bartlet doesn't win reelection. For some reason, I wrote it like that. Summary: A drunken Josh shows up at Donna's one night and ends up doing something he regrets. Author's Notes: I got the inspiration for this from an episode of Three's Company. No copyright infringement is intended. Fun and games for all.  
  
Title: Shattered Innocence 1/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
The hot water pounding on my skin feels absolutely, sensationally wonderful. I never knew what I was missing before this "massage" setting on my new shower head.  
  
I'm not sure how long I've been in here, pretty much just rotating under the jet stream, and I don't care. In just a few minutes, probably, the water will start to get cooler, and that's my cue to hurry and wash my hair and body before all the hot water has disappeared from the tank forever, or at least for a few hours.  
  
For now, I'm perfectly content to get the closest thing to a massage I can afford. I need to release all the stress that's been building up inside of me for the past few months... years.  
  
And particularly the past five days.  
  
This has, by far, been the worst week of my life. Worse than the whole Cliff incident. Worse than the MS fiasco. Far, far worse than the week I was grounded for sneaking off to a concert in Chicago. It's almost, though not quite, worse than Rosslyn.  
  
It is pretty bad, though. I never thought I'd have to live through something like it.  
  
"It's all over!" I hear a voice moan. At least, I think I do. And it sounds an awful lot like Josh's voice.  
  
'It can't be, though,' I tell myself, banishing the thought from my head. How pathetic am I? I'm starting to imagine Josh's voice in my head. I sigh and put my chin on my chest, letting the rapid pulses of water work their magic on my neck. 'It's Friday night, Josh let me leave early, and he -'  
  
"Donna!" I hear a loud bellow, a bellow I would recognize anywhere.  
  
Dear Lord, what is he doing? It's twelve thirty on a Friday night, er, Saturday morning, and he's screaming at the top of his lungs on my doorstep.  
  
I mutter various complaints about Josh and his incessant need to be annoying as I regretfully turn off the water and step out of the wonderfully warm shower. I quickly wrap a towel around my hair, another around my body, and leave behind the comfortable steam in the bathroom for the jarring chilliness of the hallway.  
  
"Hang on, Josh!" I call, rolling my eyes at his repeated knocking. Like there was a chance I wouldn't know he was out there, even if I had been sleeping.  
  
I brace myself for the onslaught of cold air as I unchain the door and swing it open.  
  
AGH!  
  
I'm instantly covered with ice. At least, it feels that way. Stupid November.  
  
"Josh, what do you want?" I ask tiredly, hiding as much of my body behind the door as I can.  
  
He doesn't seem to notice a) I'm wearing a towel, or b) I'm hiding behind the door because it's cold outside. He has an arm on the doorframe which is probably supporting him, and the other is hanging in the air, fingers still in knocking position.  
  
He blinks, realizes I'm standing in front of him, and smiles.  
  
"Hi, Donna."  
  
"You're drunk," I reply, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. I'm not in the mood to deal with this tonight. _I_ wanted to get drunk, dammit. Me! Now I'm going to have to take care of a drunken _him_.  
  
"It's all over!" He wails, and I recognize the words from the ones I heard earlier in the shower. "We're all out of jobs!"  
  
"Josh! Quiet down!" I grab the arm that is hanging in the air and yank him inside the apartment.  
  
Unfortunately, I must have caught him off-balance, because he crumbles like a cheap piece of chocolate to the floor. I close and lock the door behind him, bolting it up again, and turn around to stare down at my boss. I make sure the towel is on tightly and put my hands on my hips, shaking my head.  
  
"Josh," I say impatiently. I'm met with silence. "Josh?"  
  
Receiving no response the second time, I tentatively nudge him with my frozen foot. Still nothing. With a sigh I walk to the kitchen, fill a small glass with cold water, and return to Josh's side.  
  
"Wha-" Josh sputters, jerking back into consciousness with a start. He wipes his face as his pupils dilate and focus on me. "Donna? What was that for?"  
  
I stare down at him, crossing my arms in front of me.  
  
"You know perfectly well what that was for!"  
  
Josh continues to stare at me, dumbfounded. "What the hell is going on?"  
  
I sigh. Then I collapse into the couch and take a moment to collect my thoughts.  
  
"Josh... Joshua... You let me leave early tonight. I thought that meant that I wouldn't see you again until the usual ungodly hour you-" I stop mid- rant as my roommate's three cats approach Josh, who is attempting to stand. I watch in silence as they circle the oblivious man, their ears slipping back into predator mode. I wish Kelly wasn't sleeping at Tom's tonight so she could watch, too. Josh manages to get his two feet under him, swaying on his shaky legs, just as the cats pounce.  
  
"AIEEE!!" Josh's high-pitched scream frightens the cats even more. They heighten their attack, ears twitching further backwards, now almost completely flat. I step in before they can do much damage, ushering them into the bathroom and securely closing the door. I relish in the warm breeze that floats out before returning to the living room.  
  
"Are you okay, Josh?" I can't hide the amusement in my voice. Josh is too preoccupied to notice.  
  
"Donna, I hate those cats," he whines, checking the scratch marks on his arms for blood. He finds none, but keeps looking.  
  
"I know, I know. You might have mentioned that one or ten times."  
  
"No, Donna. I HATE those cats," his voice contains more fear than anger this time. "They are evil."  
  
"They only hate competition, Josh," I comfort sarcastically, gently grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. "Now, you know the drill. Take your coat off and sit on the couch. I'll go make some coffee."  
  
Josh nods, grows dizzy, and falls to his knees. Of course, I hadn't yet released his arm and go tumbling to the ground with him. Our predicament is astonishingly humorous to Josh, who begins laughing hysterically, literally rolling on the ground with laughter.  
  
I, on the other hand, am frantically getting back to my feet before he can roll on top of me in his inebriated euphoria. I adjust my towel indignantly and spin around to go to my room.  
  
I've dealt with a drunk, irrational Josh many, many times. There is really no trick - it just requires a lot of patience.  
  
"Donna, where are you going?" Josh asks once his laughter dies down and he sees me disappearing down the hall.  
  
"I'm putting some clothes on. I'll never be able to deal with you if I'm in a towel," I yell over my shoulder before ducking in my room.  
  
"Agh!" I mutter, swinging open my closet door. "That man is something else!"  
  
I rifle through my closet and my dresser and manage to uncover clean underwear, a sweatshirt, a pair of clean sweatpants, and warm, fuzzy wool socks.  
  
I slip the large sweatshirt over my head - ah, the warmth - and just as I'm about to pull the sweatpants up, the door swings open and in walks Josh.  
  
"AHHHH!" I shriek, somehow pulling up my pants and doubling over in one move. Josh doesn't even realize what's going on. He stumbles through the doorway without even looking at me and makes a beeline for the bed.  
  
"Donna, do you have any coffee?" He asks sleepily, collapsing on his stomach on my comforter.  
  
"Josh," I growl, feeling my blood pressure rising. I try to take a few calming breaths as I hop from foot to foot to put on my socks. "Josh, Josh, Josh."  
  
"Hmm?" He turns his head to look at me. I shake my head.  
  
"Take your coat off, Josh," I command, wringing some of the excess water from my damp hair and retreating to the kitchen as quickly as possible.  
  
I hear a crash and a muttered curse. Fearing the worst, I fly down the hallway and back into my room, where Josh is half-sitting, half-standing next to my bed. He's staring at the floor, and, with a sinking feeling, my eyes search out the target of his vision.  
  
"JOSH!" I scream angrily, lurching forward and down on my knees. I gingerly pick up a jagged piece of what was formerly my most prized possession.  
  
"Donna, I'm sorry. I'm soooo sorry," He immediately starts to apologize. In my anger I fail to acknowledge the sincerity behind his words, but I know he is sorry. And if he isn't, he soon will be. "It was an accident. Honest. I was taking off my coat and... I'm really sorry, Donna."  
  
"Josh, do you know what you've done?" I ask, looking up at him as tears start to well up in my eyes. I canNOT believe this!  
  
He looks like he's about to cry, too, but for an entirely different reason. "No?" He asks quietly, unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean to hit it, but, uh, if it's any consolation... it sure is pretty."  
  
"It _was_ pretty," I snap, arranging the many, many broken pieces of the glass music box into a pile. "My great-grandmother Victoria made it. She died when I was eleven. She was the most amazing woman. She was the oldest of nine children. Her family grew up in Chicago, and they were so poor that she shared a bed with three of her sisters. She dropped out of school in seventh grade to care for her younger siblings, and by the time she would have graduated high school, she was working full time and still taking care of her family. My great-grandfather married her when she was twenty, but he died before I was born. She had three children of her own, ran a successful restaurant with my great-grandpa, and eventually, when she was sixty-nine, earned her GED and enrolled in some classes at the local community college."  
  
Josh sinks into my bed, looking horrible and overflowing with guilt. "Donna, I really am sorry. Can I... can I buy you a new one?" He inquires tentatively. I think he already knows what I'm about to tell him.  
  
"No, you can't. She made this for me when I was born. She was seventy and absolutely adored her glassworks class. My mom told me she worked for five months on it."  
  
"Wasn't it just a box?" Josh asks. I can tell he's not trying to be mean, but the question nevertheless hurts.  
  
"No, Josh. First off, it was a music box. It was an original music box, a one-of-a-kind, and I loved it deeply. And second of all, it was a reminder of my great-grandma. She died in 1995, and I miss her dearly."  
  
Josh looks ready to crawl into a hole. I stand up and slowly walk to the kitchen to get a small paper bag. I don't know if I want to dispose of the broken music box - I think I'll keep it in the irrational hope I can have it fixed.  
  
When I reenter my room carrying the paper bag and a dustpan and brush, Josh is sound asleep. I suppress a sigh at the sight of him sleeping on his back, his coat hanging off of his left arm. Looks like he was too drunk to even take his coat off properly.  
  
I squat down and sweep the broken glass bits into the pan and slowly tip it into the brown bag, watching the shards reflect rainbows of lamplight as they slide into it. When the only part that remains is the actual music box, I turn the tiny knob a little and listen to the song.  
  
I feel slightly better when it ends, but I'm still mad at Josh for breaking it.  
  
"Honestly, Josh," I say, the anger gone from my voice as I put the tray on the top of my dresser. I lean over the bed and wrangle the rest of his arm out of the sleeve. "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. All the abuse, all the taking-me-for-granted. I swear you treat me more like your mother than your assistant."  
  
After his jacket is neatly hung on the back of my desk chair and the brown bag is tucked away in my closet, I begin the arduous task of rousing Joshua. If he goes to sleep without any coffee in his system, both of our mornings will be hell. Not to mention the fact that I'd have yet another suit of his to drop off at the cleaner's.  
  
To my surprise, Josh awakens at the first shake. I help him sit up, then pour and hand him a cup of the warm, rejuvenating liquid. After one sip he looks scarily sober.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Donna. About the music box."  
  
I manage a half-smile. "It's okay, Josh. I'll get over it."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't worry about it."  
  
He runs a hand through his unruly hair and sighs. "What happened?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"What happened?" I repeat, confused. "You knocked over my beloved glass music box."  
  
"No, I - well, I know I did that, but I mean... Life was going so well, and then... and now...we're out of jobs, Donna."  
  
"I know," I say softly, pouring myself a mug and sitting at the foot of the bed. It's been almost a week, but everyone is still having trouble digesting the election results. We campaigned our butts off, and for what? To sit around for a few more months as lousy lame ducks, waiting for the inevitable day we'll have to pack up our things and leave the place and the people we all love dearly.  
  
It is too depressing to think about.  
  
"I don't have a job."  
  
I don't bother correcting him. Sure, he has a job for the next two months, but after that... "I know," I repeat soothingly.  
  
"Neither do you."  
  
"Yes, that was covered in your earlier statement."  
  
"We're currently unemployed."  
  
"Not yet. We've just been given notice."  
  
"Doesn't matter. Two months will go by like that," He snaps to reinforce the severity of his words, but suddenly discovers he can't snap. He stares at his nonworking fingers for a few more moments, trying to get them to make the appropriate noise, before giving up with a shrug and downing another swig of coffee. "I don't want to leave, you know? It's not our time yet. We're supposed to have four more years."  
  
I have run out of verbal responses. I merely nod.  
  
"And I'm never gonna see you again." The sudden lost-little-boy quality of his voice breaks my heart. This is not the Josh I know; this isn't even drunk-and-depressing Josh.  
  
"Don't be silly, Josh. We'll see each other all the time," I try to use as much conviction as possible, but even to my ears it sounds forced, contrived. He might be trashed, but he's not stupid.  
  
I swear his lower lip starts quivering, but it could be my imagination. "I'm gonna miss you, Donna."  
  
"This isn't graduation day, Josh. You can always hire me as your assistant when you decide where you're going. I'll follow you anywhere." I surprise myself with my words, but I know in my heart they are one hundred percent true. Besides, what does it matter if I tell him? He never remembers anything in the morning anyhow.  
  
Josh's eyes roam the room. He is either deep in thought or about to pass out again. I can never really tell which.  
  
"You make me happy, Donna," he says at last, turning slightly to face me. His eyes are bright with emotion, and if not for his breath I might question whether or not he'd been drinking at all.  
  
"I try my best," I reply truthfully, cringing at the corniness of the statement.  
  
"I don't think I could live without you."  
  
My body tenses. This is not the way it is supposed to happen.  
  
"No, Josh. We're not having this discussion."  
  
"What dis- **hiccup**-cussion?"  
  
I have to fight to keep the emotion out of my voice. "Josh, please, not now. Not when you won't remember anything."  
  
Josh leans forward across the bed and kisses me. The suddenness of his move catches me by surprise, and I let the kiss last longer than it should have. Finally, my senses meet up with me, and I pull away. I fight the urge to slap him.  
  
"Dammit, Josh!" I shout, trying to catch my breath. "What were you-"  
  
"I'll remember _that_," He assures me quietly, then leans backwards and falls instantly asleep.  
  
I groan, looking heavenward for help. I feel like crying now. Damn him! How dare he wait all these years to kiss me and - and be drunk!  
  
I have to get more coffee into him eventually, but I certainly don't have to ever mention the kiss again. Not that it was a bad kiss, on the contrary - it was probably the best kiss I've ever had from a drunken politician -but I can't tell him that. And I won't tell him that. He crossed the line, the line I've always dreamed he would someday cross, but he was drunk.  
  
He was drunk, and I'm the fool. Why does that always happen?  
  
I stand up and leave him on the bed, fleeing to the kitchen for some cookie- dough ice cream. I wish I didn't have to wake him, I wish he'd be gone in the morning and we could pretend nothing had happened.  
  
Then again, as long as I'm wishing, I'll wish President Bartlet had been reelected.  
  
I close the freezer door with a sigh. Why am I always out of ice cream when I need it?  
  
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and stare into space, absently listening to Josh's soft snores as they drift down the hallway and into the kitchen. What am I going to do? What are all of us going to do? We have faced world crises, overcome personal and professional hazards, and now... after fighting so gallantly for so long... we have to surrender.  
  
I want a list of all the registered voters who picked Ritchie over Bartlet. I want a list of all the registered voters who didn't even bother to show up on election day. I will go to each house, each and every individual house, and ask them why, why they wanted to ruin my life, ruin everyone's lives. I want answers. I deserve answers. I can get answers.  
  
Ah, but what good will answers do? Really, in the long run? It is too late. The votes have been counted and tallied. It is official.  
  
Maybe I'll just go to the houses of the electorates and punch them. It would make me, and maybe everyone else, feel better. But only a little bit.  
  
I walk back into my bedroom to retrieve my cup of coffee. Josh continues to snore loudly as I settle on the corner of my bed and sip thoughtfully.  
  
When my cup is empty, I try to wake Josh one last time. It's useless. He is so far gone that I doubt even the reemergence of Kelly's cats could do much in making him open his eyes and ingest some cool coffee. I just pray he drank enough to make him function somewhat normally tomorrow.  
  
I yawn and begin to undress my boss. We've had a hell of a week, and I certainly am not going to top it off by having to run Josh's suit to the cleaners first thing in the morning.  
  
'He's a log,' I think to myself with a half-smile. 'He's a log with arms and legs. A log in a rumpled suit.'  
  
Josh doesn't even make a sound as I strip him down to his boxers. Since he's sleeping on top of the comforter, I pull the usual drunken-Josh-on-the- couch blanket from the linen closet and carefully drape it over him. Then I ruffle his hair, broken music box and drunken kiss almost, but not quite, forgiven, and carry his suit to my closet, where I carefully arrange it on a hanger and hang it on the doorknob.  
  
Then I turn off the light, partially close the door, and head to Kelly's room. I know she won't mind me sleeping in her bed for the night.  
  
End part 1/6 


	2. Sam to the Rescue?

Title: Shattered Innocence 2/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
The smell of pancakes wakes me up. Or maybe it's the question of why I am smelling pancakes that wakes me up. Either way, I suddenly find myself lying on my back in a room that looks strange, yet familiar, the nauseating smell of pancakes wafting through the air and the memory of a sweet dream of Donna slowly slipping from my mind.  
  
I sit up and realize, for the first time, that I'm naked. Well, almost naked. 'Mostly naked,' I decide. I look across the room and see my suit hanging up on the closet doorknob. The room begins to swirl. "What the-?" I question out loud.  
  
Moaning, I lay back in the bed, focusing on the ceiling and trying to ameliorate the sudden pounding in my brain as I piece together the previous night.  
  
I let Donna leave early. Then I stopped at the bar on the way home... took a cab to Donna's... made her sad... then we sat on her bed and I kissed her and-  
  
Oh my God.  
  
OH MY GOD! I'm in Donna's room!  
  
I suddenly have a horrible sinking feeling that has nothing to do with the hangover. I'm in only my boxers in Donna's bed. Donna's in the kitchen making pancakes. I...  
  
I only remember kissing her.  
  
Dammit! Leave it to me to ruin what was probably the best night of my life. I've fantasized about telling Donna for years, and when I finally pluck up enough courage (okay, have enough drinks) to do it, I don't remember it.  
  
Oh, but that kiss was amazing. And if that's any indication, then why the hell can't I remember the rest?  
  
Donna's going to be mad. Pissed. CJ's going to kill me when she finds out, as will Leo and maybe even the President. And oh God, Mrs. Bartlet.  
  
I need an ally. Sam, maybe? Yeah, Sam. He'll be my back-up, he'll support me. He will be disappointed that I messed everything up and I don't even remember a damn thing, but he'll be there for me.  
  
Oh God. Donna.  
  
I've crossed a line. I've crossed THE line. I hope she feels the same way about me that I feel about her, because if not, I will have the biggest sexual harassment lawsuit in the history of humanity on my hands. But, most importantly, I will have lost the most essential part of my life.  
  
Stupid alcohol!  
  
I jump out of bed, groan at the sudden movement, then stumble over to her closet, where I quickly throw on yesterday's suit.  
  
I take a deep breath before leaving her room and heading, ever-so-slowly, to the kitchen.  
  
"Donna?" I ask quietly, uncertainly. There's no one in the kitchen.  
  
"Donna?" I repeat, a little more loudly this time. Still no response.  
  
It's at this point that I notice the note on the kitchen table sticking out from a plate of -yes, they're cold- pancakes. I walk over and pick it up, unsure if I want to read it.  
  
I can't help myself. I have to know how badly I've wrecked our lives.  
  
"Josh, I couldn't sleep. I made some breakfast, then went for a jog. I didn't want to wake you, so I left without you. You don't have enough in your wallet for a cab. Don't worry- I left you some money on my dresser. Also, don't forget, you and Toby have that meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty, and Sam said something about racquetball at lunch. I'm sorry I left early, but I wanted to get a head start on fixing what you broke last night. Just so you know, I'm still angry about what you did, but I guess, in time, I'll be able to forgive you. In the future, Josh, maybe you could think about how much you take advantage of me when you drink and just stay home and go to sleep instead. Donna."  
  
Oh God. I'm going to vomit.  
  
I sink into a chair at the table and try to catch my breath. Bile rises in my mouth. Oh God. What have I done? I slept with Donna, I don't even _remember_ it, and now she's at the office "fixing" what I broke?  
  
This can't be happening.  
  
With weak fingers, I pull out my cell phone.  
  
"Hello? Sam Seaborn."  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Wait, why are you answering your own phone?"  
  
"Josh, are you okay?" Sam sounds concerned.  
  
"We'll get into that in a second. Didn't you used to have an assistant?"  
  
"Yeah. She's... uh... she's not with us anymore."  
  
"What? Since when?"  
  
"Since she left."  
  
"Oh," I pause. "And you've been answering your phone ever since?"  
  
"No, Josh. We have other assistants, you know. I just happened to be standing by the phone when it rang."  
  
"Oh. Good. Listen, I'm going to be coming in soon, and I'm going to need your help."  
  
"What'd you do?" Sam sighs, a hint of amusement in his voice.  
  
"I don't know. That's the problem."  
  
"My God. You didn't kill anyone, did you, Josh?"  
  
"Of course I didn't kill anyone, you idiot. What kind of question is that?"  
  
"I don't know. I was just... never mind. So you don't know what you did, but you know you did something wrong."  
  
"Pretty much, yeah."  
  
"Is it something to do with Donna?"  
  
My heart stops. "Wh-why- why would you say that?"  
  
"It doesn't take a genius, Josh."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I saw her when she came in this morning and she didn't look happy at all."  
  
"What did she look like?" I ask in a small voice.  
  
"She was wearing a blue shirt and-"  
  
"No, I mean, what did she _look_ like, not what was she wearing."  
  
"Oh. She looked pretty sad. Upset, even."  
  
Great.  
  
"When will you be here?"  
  
"In a little bit. I'm..." I debate telling him where I am. It can wait. "I'm a few minutes away."  
  
"Okay. Well, just stop in my office when you get here. I'll be around."  
  
"Okay. Good. Sam, you're a lifesaver."  
  
"Well, I haven't done anything yet, Josh," He reminds me. Oh yeah.  
  
"Then never mind," I say, half-jokingly, and hang up the phone.  
  
Oh man oh man. This is going to be one helluva day.  
  
**  
  
I have always loved my job, even when the worst things happen, like the possibility of wars, and the President's MS disclosure, and personally coming within two inches of death. I have always loved serving my country.  
  
But as I walk through the sacred hallways of the west wing, I can't help the urge to forget all about my patriotism and love of politics and find some deep, dark cave in which to hide. Forever.  
  
I swallow repeatedly as I approach my office. 'Act cool,' I remind myself. 'Act in control. Act normal.'  
  
When my office comes into sight, I realize that Donna is absent. She is not cheerfully sitting at her desk, as per usual. I quicken my pace and check out my office. Empty.  
  
Where is she?  
  
I didn't make her leave, did I? No, she couldn't have left yet.  
  
I frantically search her desk and mine for a note of some sort, any indication whatsoever that I still have an assistant named Donnatella Moss.  
  
I find none. No coat, no purse, no cup of coffee or half-eaten donut.  
  
Oh God. She's left me! She told CJ what happened, CJ told Toby, Toby told Leo, and Leo told the - oh no. This is horrible. This is catastrophic. This is -  
  
"Josh?"  
  
Toby's voice interrupts me. He's standing in the doorway of my office, an odd look on his face.  
  
I stop pacing mid-step and turn to face him. "Toby. I - I don't... Do you know where Donna is?"  
  
He nods his head and takes a step inside. "Yeah, I know. She just called a few minutes ago. She wanted me to remind you of our meeting with Senator Shayle at ten thirty."  
  
I check my watch. It's only nine twenty eight.  
  
"Toby, I've screwed up. Big time."  
  
He shakes his head and sticks his hands in his pockets. "If this is about what you did at Donna's last night, there's no need to explain. She told Bonnie all about it, and Bonnie told me."  
  
"_Bonnie_ knows?" I squeak, my voice high with incredulity.  
  
"Yeah. By this afternoon, I'm sure everyone will know."  
  
I sink into my chair. "Everyone?"  
  
"Yes. And you know I don't like getting involved in inane office gossip, but there's no excuse for what you did."  
  
"I know. God, how I know."  
  
"You should apologize the very next time you see her, and flowers wouldn't be bad, either."  
  
"But, Toby, I-" I close my eyes, trying desperately to find some inner peace, some understanding. There's none of either to be had.  
  
"I'm going to cry," I mutter, dropping my head in my hands.  
  
"Josh, don't be so overdramatic. Donna's the one who should be crying. In fact, I think she might have been before she came into work."  
  
This information does not exactly make me feel better. "I made her cry?"  
  
Toby rolls his eyes. "Josh, what did you expect? Was she supposed to be grinning and laughing and telling jokes after what happened last night?"  
  
I really and truly do feel sick to my stomach. I launch myself out of my chair and around my desk, grabbing onto Toby's shoulders. It startles him as much as it does me.  
  
"Toby, you have to help me. You have to help me fix it."  
  
He looks at me, startled. "Donna tried. She's been trying all morning. No one can fix it."  
  
"'No one can fix it?'" I repeat, outraged. "What do you mean, no one can fix it? We work with the most skilled minds in the political arena, and no one knows how to fix this?"  
  
Toby takes a step back and smoothes down the lapels I'd been holding. "Josh, I think you can agree that this is a little outside the 'political arena,' don't you think?"  
  
Talking to Toby is not helping me at all. I need Sam.  
  
"Toby, you're not helping me."  
  
"I know," He looks sincerely sorry. "And as amusing as this situation is, and, I can tell, is going to be, I do feel sorry for you. And Donna."  
  
I give him a dejected wave of dismissal and collapse on my couch, gingerly rubbing my temples. "This can't be happening, this can't be happening," I mutter over and over. It is my new mantra.  
  
"What can't be happening?" Sam asks. I sigh and run my hands over my face. Perhaps I should have closed my door.  
  
But I'm glad I didn't. Sam can help me. Sam _will_ help me. Sam is the man.  
  
"Sam, you're the man," I say brightly, sitting up on the couch and facing him. He's lingering in the doorway, holding a file folder. "C'mon in," I gesture to the spot on the other end of the couch. Sam eyes it suspiciously before closing the door behind him and sitting down.  
  
"I thought you were going to come and see me when you came in."  
  
"I was," I say apologetically. "Toby distracted me."  
  
"Oh," He says, playing with the edge of the folder in his hands. "What did you want to talk about? What'd you screw up?"  
  
"Everything, Sam. Everything."  
  
He just stares at me, patiently waiting for the explanation he knows is coming.  
  
"Okay," I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can admit what I did. "You know how I let Donna leave early last night?"  
  
Sam nods his head. "I don't know if you could call it early, but yeah. What about it?"  
  
"Well, you know how I said I was going to leave early, too?"  
  
He nods again.  
  
"I went to a bar and had a few drinks."  
  
"A few drinks, Josh, or two drinks?" Sam quips, knowing I hate being teased about my inability to stomach alcohol.  
  
"Sam, you're supposed to be helping me here," I snap. He puts his hands up, palms facing me.  
  
"Sorry. Please continue."  
  
"That's better." I pause. "So I had a - so I got drunk," I amend, standing up. I need to pace. This is a story that can't be told sitting down.  
  
Sam turns and watches me walk back and forth across my office. "Lemme guess. You got drunk and went over to Donna's."  
  
I look over at him, startled. "How'd you know?"  
  
"Josh, you do that a lot. And now that Bartlet," He stumbles, not wanting to say the words. "And especially now, I can see why you'd get drunk and go to Donna's for her to take care of you."  
  
"Yeah. Except that's not what happened." Sam's look urges me to continue. "I woke up in her bed, Sam. In my boxers. And while I don't remember pretty much _anything_ from last night, I do remember a very serious kiss."  
  
Sam's eyebrows are practically in his hair, and his mouth is opened wide enough to be getting a root canal. His stunned silence, however, only makes me more worried.  
  
"Sam," I lament, running a hand nervously through my hair. Donna's going to be here any second, I have a meeting, and I desperately need Sam's advice.  
  
"You slept with Donna?"  
  
His tone catches me off guard. I don't know if it's awe or humor or disgust in his voice, but it's definitely not a good sign.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid so."  
  
"What'd she say?"  
  
"How am I supposed to know?!?" I ask, flabbergasted. "I haven't seen her since I woke up!"  
  
"Okay, okay. Calm down, Josh. I'm not the one you should be mad at, all right?" He leans forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.  
  
A few minutes of silence inch by in a painful, slothlike manner. Finally, I can't take it anymore.  
  
"Sam, what are you thinking?"  
  
He looks up, almost surprised that I'm standing in front of him. "I don't know."  
  
"What do you mean, you don't know?" I ask desperately.  
  
"I don't know what to tell you. I'm not sure how to handle this yet. Give me a little time to digest it, all right? And try to talk to Donna when she gets here."  
  
"Talk to Donna?" My voice squeaks. That is the most outrageous idea I've ever heard. Talk to Donna. Yeah, right. She probably won't listen anyway.  
  
"Yeah, talk to her. Gently, you know. I know it's a new concept for you, Josh, but try to be subtle. Gauge her reaction to last night. Maybe it won't be that big a deal."  
  
"Maybe it won't be that big a deal?" I repeat, half-wishing it were true.  
  
"Stop by my office after your meeting. We'll cancel racquetball and come up with a game plan instead."  
  
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"  
  
He shrugs an apology and gets to his feet. "Congratulations?"  
  
I scowl. "You're supposed to be my lifesaver, Sam."  
  
He looks supremely sorry. "I'm sorry, Josh. This goes beyond my superpowers," He says with a sad smile before turning and leaving.  
  
"Wait!" I call after him, coming to the doorway. "Where is Donna right now?"  
  
"I don't know," He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "She said she'd be back after your meeting."  
  
I glance at my watch. Ten oh three. I should go hunt down Toby and go over our notes for the meeting.  
  
I avoid looking at Donna's desk as I leave my office and search for Toby, desperately hoping that the sense of impending doom will dwindle as the day wears on.  
  
End part 2/6 


	3. Childish Diversions

Title: Shattered Innocence 3/6 Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
I'm tired.  
  
Angry.  
  
Upset.  
  
Angry.  
  
And did I mention angry?  
  
I've been all over the tri-state area today looking for someone who could fix my very broken music box, and the places I didn't go to, I called. No luck. Everyone I talked to said that the fragments were too small and jagged to be properly put back together, and even if they could reassemble it, it would not look nearly the same.  
  
I want to cry. No, let me amend that. I want to smack Josh a few times and then cry. And then travel back in time and secure the safety of my previously precious heirloom.  
  
How could he do this to me? And how could I let him? Josh is constantly walking all over me, and for what? We have overstepped the bounds of a purely professional relationship, but we are nowhere near a nonprofessional one. Unfortunately.  
  
I did *not* just think that.  
  
Besides, that's not even true anymore. There was that amazing kiss.  
  
My knees are weak just thinking about it.  
  
No. I am not going to think about it.  
  
As I set to work brainlessly typing up more of Josh's notes because he doesn't like having to decipher his own shorthand in the middle of an important meeting, my mind wanders back to last night.  
  
That kiss sure was nice. I wonder when I'll get to experience that again.  
  
Where is Josh anyway? I haven't seen him since I got to work.  
  
I check my watch without disrupting my typing. I've got skills, all right. Skills that often go completely unappreciated by my manipulative boss, who is going to be late for his meeting with Senators Carlisle and Mewdane if he isn't here in ten minutes.  
  
My typing slows down momentarily as I answer the ringing telephone.  
  
"Hello, Josh Lyman," I prop the phone on my shoulder and continue to type. I really could use one of those headset things before I start having neck problems.  
  
"Hi, Donna. It's Sam."  
  
"Oh, hey, Sam. Josh isn't back from his meeting with Toby and Senator Shayle yet."  
  
"What? Oh, yeah, I know. It doesn't - quiet!"  
  
"What?" I ask, thoroughly confused. "Did you just hiss at me, Sam?"  
  
"Wh-no. No. I was hissing at the, at the, the, uh, computer? Yeah, the computer. It was making noise."  
  
"Okay." Something is going on here, I can tell. But seeing as how it's Sam, I'm not going to get too concerned. The man has a penchant for getting into odd situations.  
  
"Uh, listen, Donna, I wanted to talk to you. In private. Would it be possible for you to come by my office?" There's a sharp intake of breath on the other line, as if Sam has just smacked into something and knocked the wind out of himself. "Now?" He wheezes.  
  
I have a weird feeling about this, but I inform him I'll be in his office in a minute.  
  
I hang up the phone and finish the sentence I'm typing. Then I save the document and walk to Sam's office.  
  
He's sitting at his desk, leaning to one side and shielding his ribs, while on the phone. He abruptly hangs up when I walk inside.  
  
"Hey, Sam," I say by way of greeting, then nod at the phone in its cradle. "Isn't that a little rude?"  
  
He sits up straight and winces. "Trust me, it wasn't."  
  
"Are you okay?" I ask. He looks like he's in pain. A lot of pain, actually.  
  
"Oh, me? I'm fine. My ribs are just a little sore, that's all."  
  
I nod and take a seat across from his desk. He smiles halfheartedly and takes off his glasses. He plays with them in his hand, holding one of the arms and twisting them around.  
  
There's no denying that Sam Seaborn is an attractive man. If I hadn't managed to fall head-over-heels for Josh, I might have fallen for him. And there is something about his nervous, guilty expression that is making him look sweeter and more boyish than usual.  
  
It's unsettling.  
  
"What's up, Sam?" I cross my arms and examine the Deputy Communications Director. He looks briefly out the window behind me before meeting my eyes.  
  
He clears his throat. "Josh told me what happened last night," He says tentatively.  
  
I release a combination groan and sigh. "Yes. Can you believe it? I'm still pretty upset."  
  
"Well, you have every right to be," He assures me. "Now, Josh is my best friend, but what he did was inexcusable. Unjustified. Immoral."  
  
"Immoral?" I repeat, feeling confused.  
  
Sam continues without missing a beat. "It was wrong of him - very wrong of him - and I hope you know that."  
  
"I know that. And I know he's sorry. It just doesn't do anything anymore, you know? I can only be taken advantage of so many times before saying enough is enough. And last night was the final straw."  
  
Sam looks sad. And even slightly scared. "Well, uh, either way, he, Josh, just wanted to know how you were feeling. You know, if you're okay and all."  
  
My eyes narrow. "Is he avoiding me?"  
  
Sam chokes a bit in surprise. "What?"  
  
"He's avoiding me, isn't he?" I demand, leaning forward in the chair. "He was in here, before, when you called, wasn't he? He wanted you to create a diversion so he could go hide in his office. Well, if Joshua Lyman is not man enough to fess up to what he did last night and claim responsibility for his actions, drunken or sober, then he needn't worry about avoiding me, because I don't want to see him!"  
  
I rise on the last word and storm towards the door. "And you can quote me on that when you call him in a few seconds."  
  
With that, I turn haughtily on my heels and practically stomp through the bullpen and down to the Mess.  
  
Damn Josh. Damn him and his damn childishness. What is his problem? He seriously acts like he's still in elementary school.  
  
And shame on Sam for helping him. Josh is a bad influence on that sweet speechwriter.  
  
I can't believe he's honestly avoiding me, his own assistant. Yeah, that's really going to work, Josh. But if that's how he wants to act, two can play at that game.  
  
"Hello, Ms. Moss. What can I get for you?"  
  
I look up in surprise to find that I've maneuvered my way into the line in the Mess. "Hey, Ivan. I think. yeah, I need a hot fudge sundae, extra whipped cream, no nuts."  
  
Ivan nods understandably. "Coming right up, Ms. Moss."  
  
End Part 3/6 


	4. The Long Walk of Shame

Title: Shattered Innocence 4/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
"Margaret, is he in?" I ask quietly, the folded sheet of computer paper heavy in my hands.  
  
The quirky redhead looks up at me and smiles sympathetically. No doubt she's heard by now. I have to rectify the situation before it's too late.  
  
"Yes, Leo should be off the phone in a minute. You can go on in and wait for him."  
  
I smile my thanks and walk into Leo's office, each step harder to take than the one before it.  
  
There has to be another way. I know there has to be another way. But right now, I'm not seeing another way. Sam probably wouldn't be able to think of another way, either, if I had told him what my plans were.  
  
Sure, he knew he was supposed to distract Donna so I could go into my office. He didn't know what I was planning on doing once I got there. If he did, he certainly wouldn't have helped me.  
  
Leo looks up as I walk in and waves a hand, signifying that he'll be just a minute. I shake my head, gently telling him he need not wait. Then I place the paper on his desk and mouth "No hurry."  
  
After that, I practically zoom out of that office and back into the safety of mine, noticing happily and guiltily that Donna still isn't sitting at her desk.  
  
Luckily, she isn't in mine, either. I shut and lock the door behind me, then shut and lock the other door.  
  
I don't have much time before Leo will come ranting and raving, demanding to be let in to talk some sense into me.  
  
The window of opportunity is small, and shrinking by the second. I cannot be interrupted.  
  
I have some packing to do.  
  
End part 4/6 


	5. Coming Clean

Title: Shattered Innocence 5/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
The sundae didn't do much to help my anger or frustration, but it did taste really good. The White House has the most amazing chefs.  
  
I hear Leo's booming voice before my desk comes into view, and my stomach instantly knots.  
  
This can't be good.  
  
A small crowd has gathered around Josh's office, trying to look inconspicuous and busy. They're not very good actors.  
  
"Leo, what is going on?" I ask calmly, wondering why the Chief of Staff is standing in front of Josh's door, waving a white sheet of paper in the air and looking about one minute away from huffing and puffing and blowing the house down.  
  
"Donna," Leo looks over at me, then back at the door. He looks both helpless and pissed.  
  
"Joshua Lyman, open this damned door right now!"  
  
Josh, whether intelligently or unintelligently, does not respond.  
  
"Sir, maybe I can get him to-" Sam trails off, appearing suddenly. Leo looks at Sam, then me, then at the door. He nods for Sam to go ahead.  
  
"Josh, listen to Leo, you dolt. This is not the way to solve anything. You're not helping the situation at all."  
  
Now I'm really worried. "_What_ is going on?" I demand, my voice high and unyielding.  
  
"That is exactly what I would like to know," Leo says loudly, turning towards Josh's door so his deputy can clearly hear him. "I was on the phone in my office and Josh dropped this off for me to read and sign off on. It is unacceptable."  
  
Leo hands me the piece of paper. My eyes almost tear up when I read it. "A letter of resignation?"  
  
Leo nods curtly, taking back the letter I'm holding out to him. My stomach feels queasy.  
  
"I don't beLIEVE that he is acting like such a child. Honestly, a grown man hiding in his office. Nothing he could have done would warrant this."  
  
Sam and I share a look. "Is this because of last night?" I ask Sam. He shrugs.  
  
"That would be my guess," He responds quietly.  
  
"He feels like he has compromised the ethics of offices everywhere and has shamed the White House and its staff," Leo reads the quote off the page and looks up, begging Sam and me for an answer. "What did he do? Why does he feel this way?"  
  
We both answer at the same time.  
  
"He shattered my music box."  
  
"He slept with Donna last night."  
  
Our sentences overlap, and we both jump and stare at each other.  
  
"WHAT?!?" I shriek. Sam does the same, albeit in a slightly more-masculine tone. Slightly.  
  
The wild look in my eyes must be threatening to Sam, because he starts explaining himself almost immediately. "Josh called me up this morning and told me he did something horrible, but he didn't remember doing it. He said he woke up in Donna's bed and had reason to suspect they had slept together."  
  
"Had reason to suspect they slept together?" Leo repeated, incredulous.  
  
I'm suddenly acutely aware of how many people are standing around and listening to this.  
  
I think I'm going to vomit.  
  
"Where the HELL did he get that idea?" I demand loudly. Sam looks frightened at my tone. Even Leo refuses to meet my eyes. I take a step towards Josh's door and repeat my question, this time directed at the man hiding in his office.  
  
He doesn't respond. The silence is choking me.  
  
"There was a kiss," Sam announces quietly, looking at the floor. I am standing in front of him two seconds later.  
  
"What?" I am furious. And I'm hoping they'll think the red on my cheeks is from fury, not blushing embarrassment.  
  
"He said he couldn't remember anything besides a serious kiss," Sam repeats, looking into my eyes and begging for mercy for Josh.  
  
The jury's still out on that one.  
  
"Did Josh kiss you last night?" Leo asks. I think he wants to know more out of personal curiosity than out of political worry.  
  
I don't know how to answer. "Isn't it possible, didn't it even occur to Josh," I raise my voice at this point. "That he came over to my apartment, drunk, and, after he had broken a very dear possession of mine, passed out on my bed while I was making coffee? Didn't it occur to him that he dreamt of a kiss, and that the only reason I was mad at him the following morning was because he had broken my one-of-a-kind glass music box from my dead great-grandmother and I spent all day trying fruitlessly to have it fixed?"  
  
The silence is physically adding tension to the room. The urge to vomit still hasn't gone away.  
  
After an excruciatingly long amount of time, the lock clicks and the door swings open. Josh's head of unruly hair sticks out, shamefully.  
  
"I didn't sleep with you?"  
  
The question, under many other circumstances, could be funny. Not now, not here. I want to strangle him.  
  
"No, Josh."  
  
"And you're not mad at me?"  
  
"Oh, I'm still angry about the music box. And this, too, actually. Livid."  
  
I notice the crowd take a baby step backwards as the door opens a fraction more. "But you're not going to sue me, right?"  
  
"Sue you?"  
  
"For sexual harassment."  
  
"What sexual harassment? You imagining that you kissed me?"  
  
"So you're not going to quit then, right?"  
  
I sigh. Heavily. Working with Josh is more difficult than dealing with a child. "Josh, why would I quit? We only have two precious months left in this wonderful White House."  
  
With that, the door opens all the way and Josh smiles sheepishly. Behind him, on the desk, is a half-packed box of things I'm going to have to put back into their correct spots around his office.  
  
Leo examines Josh, then me, then Sam. Then he rips the paper in his hands in half, then half again, and leaves, dropping the scraps into a recycling bin as he walks away.  
  
**  
  
The hot water pounding on my skin feels absolutely, sensationally wonderful. I never knew what I was missing before this "massage" setting on my new shower head.  
  
I happily rotate under the spray, listening to the calming sound of beads of practically-scalding water ricocheting off my exhausted body.  
  
"Don-na!" I hear. I close my eyes tightly and pray the voice was in my head. I cannot handle this again.  
  
It is silent for a minute, save for the running water, so I declare it was only a hallucination and return to my shower of bliss.  
  
"DON-NA!" The shout, combined with a really loud series of rapid knocks, makes me jump. I slide a little, lose my balance, and grab onto the shower curtain to find my footing.  
  
Josh is, somehow, right outside my bathroom door, knocking and shouting my name over and over.  
  
How on Earth did he-  
  
"Josh, calm down. Give her a minute. Geez."  
  
Kelly! Kelly let him in!  
  
That traitor!  
  
Grumbling loudly, I turn off the cascade of warm water and reluctantly tie a towel around myself.  
  
My damn robe is in my bedroom!  
  
Arg! I do not want to face Josh in a towel again, especially since I doubt he's drunk this time.  
  
"Josh, go wait in the living room. I am going to get dressed and you are going to sit on the couch and wait until I come out to talk to you. Understand?" I yell through the door.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Josh says. I wait a minute for him to leave before opening the door. I peek my head out, a plume of steam escaping with me as I check the emptiness of the hallway.  
  
I hear him talking with Kelly about her evil cats as I dash down the hall and into my room.  
  
End part 5/6 


	6. Donna's Revenge

Title: Shattered Innocence 6/6 Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)  
  
"You have two minutes before I throw you out," Donna announces as she walks into the living room. Kelly stands up and politely excuses herself, whispering a 'Good luck, Josh,' under her breath.  
  
Donna takes a seat in one of the two overstuffed chairs next to the sofa. Her long, blonde hair is wet and dripping water onto her red tank pajama top. She pulls her long legs under her and eyes me suspiciously.  
  
God, she really is beautiful.  
  
I stand up and, suddenly feeling self-conscious, hold out the brown cardboard box in my hands. Her eyebrows narrow as she accepts the package.  
  
"Before you open it, let me explain," I begin, standing in front of her and wringing my hands. Donna does not normally make me feel so nervous.  
  
"I am sorry for everything I did. Not just that night and the next day, but everything else I've ever done to cause you any form of pain, no matter how mild. You know I don't usually do something so boneheaded as-"  
  
Donna's loud laugh interrupts me. I fight the urge to glare at her.  
  
"Well, you know that rashly assuming things isn't my style. And I know that the kiss was real, and was amazing, and maybe in the future we'll be able to do more of that, but I understand why you said what you did at the office, and I am thankful for it."  
  
Donna, apparently, has had enough of my apology and is tearing into the box.  
  
"Careful!" I admonish. She is. She breaks through the tape and opens the flaps.  
  
I do not blink in the following seconds because I don't want to miss a fraction of the look on her face. I haven't seen the look since that Christmas when I gave her the skiing book.  
  
She gasps and her entire beautiful face lights up beautifully. There's no other way to describe her than happy.  
  
"Josh," She breathes, gently lifting the contents of the box out into the light.  
  
I have to admit, I am mighty proud of myself.  
  
"How on earth did you do this?"  
  
She's amazed, and I feel amazing. "It's a long story. I called your mom, then the college, tracked down the class list, made some calls, did some investigating, and found a woman, living in Oregon, who had also made a music box and, more importantly, still had it. I managed to buy it from her, though once she realized how much I wanted it, she seemed to get more and more attached to the damn thing. Anyway, I had it shipped very carefully and expensively to my apartment, where I knew you couldn't intercept it."  
  
I wish I could bottle the look Donna is giving me right now and keep it forever and ever.  
  
"Josh." She trails off, near tears. She winds the music box and places it on the coffee table, then stands and spreads her arms out for a hug. I happily step into her arms, savoring the moment.  
  
"Thank you," She whispers sincerely into my ear. Her breath makes me shiver.  
  
She breaks the embrace and leads me to the door. I follow her, staring in confusion when she swings it open.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your two minutes are up," She announces cheerfully.  
  
"Donna-"  
  
"Thanks for the music box."  
  
"Donna-"  
  
"You made me really happy."  
  
"Donna-"  
  
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she leans up and kisses me. The action takes me completely by surprise. A very pleasant, unfortunately brief surprise.  
  
"I'll remember _that_," She announces, smiling, and shuts the door in my face.  
  
The End Feedback is always welcome with open arms at Ambino1111@prodigy.net 


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